Until the End of the World (Book 1) (30 page)

I try to hand him the girl, but she digs her nails in and buries her head in my shoulder. We can’t have her screaming again, and I can hardly bring her with me.

“Honey?” I ask. I lean back so I can see her face. “Look at me, sweetie. What’s your name?”

She looks into my eyes with her distrustful ones and whispers, “Elizabeth. Beth.”

She tries to duck back down, but I lift her, forcing her to talk to me. “Beth, do you have a best friend?”

She nods. “Alana.”

I talk quickly. “I have two best friends. One is Penny. She’s back at our house. The other is right here. He’ll take you to the house to see Penny.”

I point my chin toward Nelly. He’s disheveled and holding a gun, but otherwise he looks friendly when he smiles at her.

I make a face like I’m telling her a secret. “His name’s Nelly. He has a girl’s name! Isn’t that funny? I named him that!”

Nelly makes a face like he still hasn’t forgiven me, and something that resembles a smile crosses her features.

“Beth, I need you to go with him and be as quiet as you can. We have to catch the men you came with so they won’t bother us anymore.”

Her grip loosens almost imperceptibly. “You’ll catch them?”

“Yes. I promise they won’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

She lets me hand her to Nelly. She looks even more pathetic cradled in his big arms. John radios the house to alert them to Nelly’s arrival and our plan.

“Let’s go,” he says to me.

“Careful,” Nelly says.

He shifts Elizabeth to his side and grips his gun. I know he’d rather I were heading to the safety of the house, just like I’m glad he is instead of me.

I give him a small smile. “Always.”

He turns to limp toward the driveway, talking softly to the little figure in his arms.

When we were kids my favorite game was Manhunt. It was like hide and seek in the woods, except when the hunter caught the hiders they would join the hunt for whomever was left. The last man standing had to make it to the far-off home base without being caught. Or, I should say, last
girl
standing, because I almost always won. I think part of the reason I loved the game so much was that it was the only time my feet were sure and my breath came easily. In school gymnasiums and fields I always missed the ball, got a stitch in my side or came in last. But in the woods, especially in my woods, I couldn’t be caught. I would cover myself in leaves, hide in ditches, slog through mud—nothing was off limits. My body knew where it was going and what to do, even though it was only a game.

This isn’t a game, and I haven’t played Manhunt in years, but I still know where I’m going. The woods are always changing, but the overall feel remains the same. The big stump, the lightning-struck pine—all my old friends are still here.

It can’t be more than five minutes since we left the house, but it’s time enough for the remaining men to have gotten a plan together. John and I jump the trench, step over the trip wire and under the barbed wire. We make it to the edge of the yard. The spotlight’s been turned facing out, so we can’t see anyone in the house behind it.

John catches movement to the left and points; it might be the man who had Ana. There’s a
thunk
from the right, near the barn. I motion that I’ll head that way. He nods and heads left. My hair sticks to my face and my heart pounds. I stop when I hear the voices. They come from the side of the barn, where there’s cover in the trees.

I creep out under the fruit trees, which have dropped all their blossoms and gotten down to the business of making fruit. My footsteps are muffled by the petals that still carpet the ground. Two men crouch by the barn, but my view is obstructed by trees.

“Let’s just get out of here,” one says.

“You heard the shots from the road as well as I did,” says the other. “There ain’t no where
to
go. We’ve got to take this place. I’ll take out the light and cover you. You run.”

I move fast, but I’m still too slow. A wiry figure jumps up. There’s a loud crack and the light goes dark. I can’t see the one who stayed behind; my eyes are too accustomed to the light to be of much use until they adjust. Feet thump on the wooden deck, followed by a volley of gunfire. As my pupils widen, I see James and Penny standing in the broken glass of the doors, guns flashing.

The other man runs. I take off after him. He’s broad and bursts through the woods like an elephant. I hear shots behind me. John. I realize I can see the man twenty feet in front of me. The sky is no longer dark and the stars have disappeared. But if I shoot now, I’ll probably just hit a tree and he’ll know I’m here.

He turns for the road, not taking his own advice to stay and fight it out. The way he’s blindly smacking through the brush makes me think he doesn’t know about the perimeter we’ve made. They must have come down the driveway, where we moved the cans so they wouldn’t know we were expecting them, and then gone into the woods. I know I can cut him off if I move fast. It’ll keep me out of his line of fire as well. The cool air burns my lungs. I hate running. I swing under the barbed wire, stop short behind a tree and wait.

There are noises far behind me, also following his progress. In the second that I allow myself to think, I hope it’s John. The man’s closer now; I can hear him grunting. My breathing seems so loud and I try to stifle it, even though I know he can’t hear. I close both hands on the gun I hold up against my heaving chest. I’ll get him either way. If he gets past the line, I’ll shoot him in the back as he goes past.

But he doesn’t get through. There’s a scream and the twang of metal as he hits the barbed wire and it catches his clothes and the skin under them. I step out from behind the tree into a firing stance. I’m not surprised to see it’s Neil Curtis. He’s dropped his gun and uses his hands to rip his clothes off the wires that hold him. He manages to tear himself free, falls back on his rump, and scrambles for his weapon.

“Stop!” I yell.

He freezes and blinks up at me. His eyes are the same as they were at the roadblock, empty except for a bit of mean and a lot of crazy.

He puts his hands up with a small, creepy smile. “Okay. You win. I’m going, and I’ll never come back.”

He thinks I won’t shoot him because I’m a girl. He’s so used to having his way with women, even if that way includes ropes and guns, that he thinks he’ll win this one, too.

“No, you’re not,” I say, but my hands tremble.

He sees it and leans toward his weapon a few feet away. My finger tightens on the trigger and he stops.

“None of your folks are hurt,” he says. It’s almost a whine.

I want to laugh. Does he really think that’s all that matters? Plenty of other folks are hurt. I just pulled one of them out of a van, stinking of dirt and men. I think of the Franklin girls and their parents, of Sam, of that tiny body at the school, wrapped in a final baby blanket of pink insulation. I shake my head, and my hands stop trembling. Everything inside me grinds to a halt, like it’s covered with a layer of ice.

He must see it, and he whispers, “Please.”

Finally, I see something in his eyes besides malice. It’s fear. He whispers again, his voice cracking. He licks his lips. I hear the other person drawing nearer. I have to act now.

This time he begs. “Please?”

I aim at his chest, considering. Then I raise my gun a few inches and aim for his head. After all, he’s just another kind of zombie.

“No,” I reply. I repeat it again, louder this time, and look him in the eye. “No.”

Maybe he moves for his gun, just an inch. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself so I can pretend I don’t feel something dark blossoming inside me. Something that revels in taking the life of someone so terrible. I pull the trigger.

John finds me contemplating the ruin that once was Neil’s head and tells me it’s over. We won. We walk back through the woods with his arm around my shoulders. We pass the body of the one John went after. He’s got a goatee of pink foam on his chin. James and Peter come out from the woods across the driveway as we reach the steps.

“They’re all accounted for, with your two in the woods,” James says. “The little girl, Beth, said that’s all there were.”

“Good,” John says.

I thought the house would look worse than it does. The glass from the sliding doors glitters as Penny pushes it with a broom, and a front window is broken, too. I know there must be bullet holes in the walls and things that are cracked and broken, but I’ll look for those later. Nelly sits on the couch, his leg propped on the coffee table. Beth huddles beside him, wrapped in a quilt, her eyes closed. I don’t know if she’s sleeping, but I don’t want to disturb her. He smiles at me, but the corners of his eyes are turned down with pain.

“Let me see,” I say softly, and kneel down. The bullet didn’t just graze him; it passed through and came out the other side of his calf. But it’s close to the skin, so maybe the muscle isn’t too damaged. Someone’s cleaned and put ointment on it. “I’ll bet that hurts like a fucker.”

Nelly laughs. “A little.”

“That’s why my parents stocked Vicodin. I’ll go get some.”

“I love your parents,” Nelly says. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

When I get back with the pills, Penny’s dumping a dustpan of glass into a paper bag that James holds. I make sure Nelly has water and go to help. I don’t have to ask Penny how she is; she tells me she’s okay with a look.

“Where’s Ana?” I ask. I want to see her with my own eyes, to make sure she’s still here.

“Lying down. She has a major headache,” Penny replies. “You should see her face. Sit down. We’ve got this. Tell me what happened while I clean you up.”

Once I’m sitting at the table, exhaustion steals over me. My thighs feel like they’re strapped to the chair. The whole thing couldn’t have taken much more than an hour, but I could swear I’ve been running around all night. I wonder what Penny meant by cleaning me up, but then I look at my arms. They’re covered in scratches and scrapes from my shoulders to the tips of my fingers. I must have taken off my jacket at some point.

Of course, now that I see them, the cuts begin to burn. I might have run through the blackberries; those thorns always irritate me the worst. My face and neck burn too. They must look like my arms, but I don’t care enough to haul myself out of this chair to see. I hear Peter and John on the porch, talking and cleaning up. Everyone speaks in low voices so as not to disturb Beth, but the tones almost sound reverent.
We’re okay; we made it
runs in a low hum under our words. I close my eyes.
Laddie.
I open them again.

“Where’s Laddie?” I ask Penny, who’s taken a seat next to me with antibiotic ointment and a clean cloth.

She looks around. “I don’t know. He isn’t back yet.”

I force myself to stand, remembering that he ran toward the barn. Penny holds her hands out for me to wait, but I shake my head and step through the doorframe. I whistle and call, but I’m not surprised when I don’t hear an answering jingle. I find his body around the back of the barn, his brown fur matted with blood. He could be sleeping. I crumple beside him and pet his still head, wishing he would make those contented, silly grunts.

“I’m sorry, boy,” I say. My tears are hot on my cheeks. “You were just trying to help.”

I’m going to miss him so much. I’m furious at the men who killed him, who would have killed us.

John and Peter come up behind me. John sighs and kneels on the ground. He runs a hand along Laddie’s side and scratches behind his ear. The wrinkly skin around his eyes has gone soft and pink.

“Good boy,” John says. His voice is gruff from holding back the tears.

Peter raises his hand, as if he’s going to lay it on John’s shoulder, but drops it back down at his side. “John, I’m so sorry.”

John runs a finger and thumb over his eyes and stands up, brushing off his knees. “I know, son. Thank God we’re all okay. That’s what’s most important. It’s no one’s fault.”

Peter stares down at Laddie’s body, lips compressed. It’s only now that something awful has happened that he’s sorry. He didn’t think beforehand. He didn’t take the time to see if his actions would hurt anyone. He didn’t care, because he thought he’d scrape through like he always does. Even in the midst of the end of the world he’s acted like he’s entitled to whatever he wants.

I point at Peter. “No. It’s
your
fault. I told you we might end up dead. But, as usual, you did whatever you wanted. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Peter says quietly.

My laugh is bitter, and I feel mean. I want to get him back for putting me in a situation where I had to blow someone’s head off, for being the one to tell me that Adrian no longer loves me, for lying about me, for disliking me so much.

“I wish I really had told you not to come with us in Jersey.” His eyes widen, caught in his lie. I nod. “We don’t need you here, ruining everything. You don’t belong here.”

“Cassie, I know you’re upset—” Peter begins. Something in his face tells me he might be trying to make amends, but he’s sounded sincere before.

I hold my hands up for him to stop. “I am way past upset.
Way
past. Just stay away from me, Peter.”

I storm to the house, half-wishing it were him with the bullet in his side instead of sweet, protective Laddie.

Ana’s face looks awful. Her eye on the right side is swollen shut, and her cheek is twice its usual size and three shades of purple.

“Yikes,” I say when she enters the living room, where I sit on the couch next to Nelly and a sleeping Beth.

She smiles, then holds a hand up to her cheek and winces. “You should see the lump on my head. I wanted to sleep, but Penny came in every eighteen seconds to make sure I didn’t.”

It doesn’t have the usual tone an Ana complaint has. She touches Penny’s hand on the arm of her chair and turns to me.

Her one good eye wells with tears. “Cass, I totally fucked up. I know you’re all angry. You should be angry. But I’m sorry, I really, truly am.”